


You Mean It?

by RickGrimes



Category: Walking Dead, Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Codependency, Cutting, Depression, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Relationships, M/M, Parent/Child Incest, post 4x09, quotes from the show
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2014-04-30
Packaged: 2018-01-21 08:16:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1543949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RickGrimes/pseuds/RickGrimes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Carl self-harming and Rick comforting him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Mean It?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vmbaby](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=vmbaby).



> Hey! This is for vmbaby's prompt~I hope you enjoy and that this is what you were looking for!
> 
> Next prompts are for StayCalmAndBergeron, anons, and stitching-puppet. I'll be trying for 1 or even 2 fics a day so that nobody's waiting too long. There's a good amount of kink coming up, so I hope everyone's thirst is at high levels.
> 
> {{{If the anon that requested Rick/Carl with Carl really having to pee on their way back from a run is reading this, can you please contact me? I want to hammer out the details so I can get the story right for you. :D }}}}

Things had been bearable after Rick and Carl had reached their “sanctuary”. The first house they decided to stay in for more than one night after the prison fell. Rick had been out on the couch for the day and he remembered lying on the ground while his son supported his head in his hands, touching foreheads like they always did. The next day the healing started with their conversation by the couch, but that didn’t mean wounds weren’t going to get ripped open again.

The two had been moving from house to house, not in any hurry to run towards anything, just as much as they weren’t hurrying to run away. They weren’t looking back, but it didn’t mean they were moving on that quickly. With only each other to rely on they were technically always home anyways, so what did the houses mean besides protection from walkers and maybe some food. That’s how Rick saw it, but his hold on Carl was starting to slip. The boy grew more and more distant, talking to him only when necessary and staying silent even when Rick asked him questions directly. Rick understood though. He would be there when Carl was ready to let him in.

Carl stopped suddenly in the middle of their travels, he gestured to their left where a small house stood concealed and a ways back from the road.

“I don’t want to walk anymore,” he admitted.

Rick nodded, “All right then.”

They headed towards the house, encountering one walker. Carl just stared at it oddly instead of going in for the killshot. Rick looked from Carl to the dead woman and moved quickly to kill it for Carl.

“What the hell was that?”

Carl tightened his lips and walked ahead of his father.

Rick frowned, picking up his pace to follow after his son, “Carl, damn it,” he muttered, loud enough for the boy to hear him.

Even Carl didn’t know what that was, he just felt empty and fuzzy around the edges. He got up because of his dad and spent the day next to him and then he went to sleep when the man said he’d be next to him. All of that was important, but he was still falling apart inside. Every day he saw the faces of those who’d fallen at the prison. Especially his mom and Judith. Carl could see what his distance was doing to his father, but he couldn’t force himself to participate in life. He was going through the motions, staying alive for Rick mostly. He went from numb to unbearably sad and then angry. Despite all of that he still sought his father, clinging to him while they slept, brushing their hands while they walked, kissing him when his sadness wasn’t too bad. Carl was hanging by a thread, and he was counting on his dad to be the one to change that weak fibre to steel cable. He just didn’t know how to ask for help.

The two Grimes made sure the house was secure and then they went through their routine of scavenging and organizing the furniture and supplies in case worst came to worst. Carl sat with Rick in the living room for a while and then he went upstairs without a word.

He sat in the bathroom on the floor with his head in his hands. He didn’t know what he wanted to do. Cry, sit quietly, hit something, return downstairs… His emotions were confusing and he couldn’t even categorize them and deal with it. That, in turn, made him feel weak and helpless--at least he could identify that much.

Without thinking, Carl reached into his pocket and grabbed his knife. He wiped the blade on the inside of his shirt even though it was pretty clean anyways. So what if he got an infection though? He just wanted to feel something he could deal with. Taking care of a wound was easier than trying to work through an emotion. It was something he could do, and it felt like progress.

He dragged the small blade across the skin of his forearm, avoiding his wrists and not going to deeply, but the blood bloomed out of his pale arm slowly, beading along the length of the cut. It stung wonderfully and he felt simultaneously better and worse. He hadn’t realized he was crying until the tears landed on his jeans and made dark wet spots.

Carl repeated the action next to the first cut he made. He pulled the knife away when Rick knocked at the door and came into the room. The boy attempted to pull his sleeve down and hide what he’d done, but by his father’s expression, it was obvious he’d seen.

Rick didn’t hesitate in the door way, and went immediately to Carl’s side at the floor, “Carl, no, don’t do this to yourself.” He pulled Carl into his lap, wrapping his arms around him and cradling the boy’s head with his hand. Carl didn’t even resist, but clung to his father, burying his face into his neck. He cried openly, sobbing into Rick’s shoulder. 

Rick wasn't terribly surprised that this was happening. He'd been expecting some sort of blowup, but Carl cutting himself wasn't something he would've guessed. He was prepared to comfort the boy.

“It’s okay, son. I’m here. What can I do?”

Carl just shifted closer to Rick’s body for an answer.

“I don’t want you to hurt like this. Let me take care of you, Carl. Let me help,” Rick said earnestly. It made him sick to see Carl hurting himself like this when it could’ve been avoided. If he’d done something sooner maybe. If he’d talked to Carl instead of letting him distance himself further. But this was Carl, and it probably had to happen like this. Any attempt at talking it out earlier would’ve gotten him a fight or just made things worse. In a strange, sad way, Carl had to break before Rick could fix him.

Rick didn’t need to ask why Carl was cutting himself, all he had to do was look around at the world and look at what had happened to them for his answer.

“I love you so much, Carl. It’s you and me,” Rick said, still hugging the boy, rubbing his hand up and down his back, “I wouldn’t last a day without my son.”

“Yeah you would. You’ve done it before,” Carl whispered with a bite and a quiet desperation to his words.

“That was when I knew you were still alive. If I… If I lost you for sure. I wouldn’t be interested in anything after that. If you go, I do,” Rick said, pausing before continuing, “You’re why I’m here. That’s it. You’re all that’s left for me and I don’t want to see you hurt. I can’t bear to watch you give up. I need you to want life, Carl. I need to know that you want to be here with me or I can’t completely protect you.”

Carl listened to the man’s words, wanting to reject them and argue that he didn’t actually care. He wanted to tell Rick that he would be better off without him—the dejected son just dragging the hero down. But he knew his dad, and he could tell that he was speaking the truth. It wasn’t a truth that he saw in himself, and he wished his father would see him for what he was—tainted and monstrous, but all at the same time he loved that his father saw the best in him. He wanted Rick to love him. He could understand it because he still loved Rick even after the things he’d done. Rick and Carl were essential, and everything else was trivial. Carl let Rick’s words reassure him and bring back feeling to the numbness.

“You mean it?” Carl asked, “I’m no good though, Dad. I… I’m not what you think I am.”

“I love you no matter what you are, Carl. You’re my son. I don’t care about the rest. What you’ve done. What you might do. It’s still you and that’s what I’m interested in,” Rick said, adjusting Carl so he could look him in the eyes.

Carl stared back at his father, wanting to list every reason that Rick should just leave him behind. Wanting to make Rick see him as he saw himself, but he couldn’t. His dad might never be aware of all the darkness he felt inside himself, but he was starting to think it was okay. Maybe Rick had darkness in him as well. It didn’t matter so much when he knew that they both had pain and loss and issues that changed them irrevocably. With the genuine words from his father, and the feel of his body against his, Carl could start to accept that they were both fucked up. He could count on Rick to be there for him though. He cared for his father more than anything. Carl had confirmed that for himself when he had sat in that house and was willing to let Rick kill him or turn him because he couldn’t do it. As cliché as it was, it just proved that Carl loved Rick more than life, and he was starting to get that his father felt the same.

“Come on, let’s get these cleaned up and then we can go to bed, okay? Do you promise not to do this again? If not for yourself, can you do it for me?”

Carl nodded, “Promise.”

Rick cleaned up his cuts quickly since they weren’t too serious of injuries, and then he led them to the bedroom. Rick wrapped his arms around the boy when they laid down, pulling him close to him the way they both liked.

“Thanks, Dad,” Carl said. He wanted to say he felt better and that he was focused on his purpose again. He was ready to start getting back on track, but he held on to the words, wanting to prove it instead of promise it.

“You’re welcome,” Rick said, seeking out Carl’s hand. “Goodnight.”

“Night,” Carl replied, holding his dad’s hand tightly. His cuts stung, but just reminded him of what he needed to do. Stick around. For his dad and for himself.

 


End file.
